


In Sickness and In Health

by Hancockles



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Major Illness, Sickfic, Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 17:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hancockles/pseuds/Hancockles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short pieces about The Hunter and Gilbert. Their relationship in general, Gilbert's recovery. A softer future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and In Health

“Your cough has improved, at least,” says the Hunter, a note of approval in their voice. It was only by their kindness and their steady, helping hand that Gilbert had recovered so swiftly. His journey was not over, of course, but he felt he was trotting along quite contentedly. The healing power of a nicely tucked blanket and a well-made bowl of soup never ceased to amaze him.

“Thanks to you, as usual,” says Gilbert, smiling. “How can I ever repay you?”

The Hunter pulls back the blinds to let in morning light, and as they turn to face Gilbert they seem the very image of a guardian angel, wreathed as they are in brightness and goodwill.

“No need,” they say. “No need at all.”

\---

“Always enjoyed sunsets,” says Gilbert. He’s a man in repose, hands folded in his lap, lazy smile on his face. “Though it’s a bit different on the night of the hunt.”

He and the Hunter look out the second-story window, eyes turned to the dark and pointed architecture of Yharnam and its starkness against the changing sky.

The sun sinks behind the horizon, as always, an orange smear turning red, like fire, or blood, or both. Already smoke rises up from the distant lower levels of the city and the smell of burning flesh blows in with the wind.

“Gods, what a sight,” the Hunter murmurs. They don’t yet appreciate the way the smoke coalesces into a dark and stinking cloud above the treeline. 

\---

“Let me get that for you.” The Hunter comes to Gilbert’s side, meaning to assist him with his jacket. Gilbert’s already shrugged it halfway off by the time they get there. 

“I’m well enough now to do it myself, you know,” Gilbert says. He’s chiding, though gently; there’s a hint of a smile on his face. He allows the Hunter to remove the coat and hang it neatly on the wall hook before he speaks again – he likes watching them busy themselves with small, mundane movements; likes watching strong hands handle delicate things; likes the soft scrap of calloused fingers against soft fabric.

“Sometimes I feel as though you’re coddling me,” he says.

“I’m only worried,” says the Hunter. The step close to him again, put their warm hand on his shoulder. His heart thumps and his knees go weak in ways that have nothing to do with being sick. He smiles. 

“I appreciate it. I do,” he says. “But I have to learn to do things on my own again. Even the small things.” 

The Hunter lets out a breath. Then they pull Gilbert into a close, tight hug. It’s easy for Gilbert to return it. It feels good to grab onto something with the strength he’s regained, to hold it firmly. 

\---

The Hunter catches Gilbert’s sleeve. “Please,” they say. Their eyes are wild, and honest. 

“Good Hunter–” Gilbert begins. The Hunter, in a flash, moves his hands to Gilbert’s shoulders, anchoring him in the doorway.

“You’re not ready yet,” the Hunter says. Their eyes flick to the just-barely-open door, and to the sunlight beyond. The weather is fair. A breeze blows in the scent of freshly blooming flowers.

Gilbert eyes them steadily. They don’t waver from anything, not often. But he thinks he’d better try to change their mind. He’s stronger now – he feels that truth in his mind and in his limbs. The Hunter chews their lower lip as they look at him, pleadingly, before finally letting their hands fall from his shoulders.

“Alright,” they admit. “I’m not ready yet.” 

Gilbert smiles. “That’s very sweet of you.” 

“I worry about you out there, I–” 

“I know. But you’ve seen over my recovery yourself. Besides, it’s not as though I’m going on some great trip yet.” Gilbert pauses, thinking. “Though, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?” He tilts his head. “We’ll decide that another time. For now–” 

The Hunter sighs heavily.

“For now,” Gilbert continues. “Stay here. I’ll be back with the milk soon, yes?”

The Hunter nods. “We need eggs, too,” they say. “Go on, then. I’ll be here.”

\---

“It’s nice to be this active again!” Gilbert says. He pivots his cane in his palm, swinging it in a wide, jolly circle. He stumbles before the tip hits the ground again, but the Hunter is there, catching his arm and setting it upright. They both laugh.

“Careful now,” says the Hunter. “I didn’t know it was possible for you to be so reckless.” 

“Reckless is a luxury I can afford now, hm?” Gilbert leans on his cane, taking a minute to catch his breath. Since the strength in his legs returned to him, he’s been eager to be out of the house; he forgets that his uneasy strength has limits. He looks no worse for the wear, though. His smile remains.

“In small measures,” the Hunter says, setting them on their course down the path again, toward the town square. “I wonder how you’ll next astonish me with your ill-considered adventures?”

Gilbert walks on in silence for a few moments, watching the people strolling by, taking care not to stick his cane into a gaping crack in the cobblestones. He sees couples – he doesn’t seek them out specifically, but where he turns his head there seems to be a young pair, drawing close to each other in the daylight, whispering, laughing. 

The two of them round a corner, near a red brick shop, and Gilbert is struck with a marvelous idea.

“Hold this,” he says, handing his cane to the Hunter, who takes it with a questioning tilt of their brows. Gilbert sets his hand on their chest and pushes back, tipping them the short distance to the wall. The impact pushes a soft laugh out of them, and they set his cane on the ground in order to better steady Gilbert with their hands about his waist. 

“Gilbert! I’m surprised at you,” they say.

“Just wait for my next trick,” Gilbert says, leaning in, taking their face in his hands, bringing them close. Their lips meet in broad daylight; lovers too shy to touch each other in public draw close, and smile, and titter.

\---

“I should have whacked them!” Gilbert raises his cane toward the window, hoping the evening’s miscreants would feel his warning. The Hunter stuck out their hand, lowering Gilbert’s arm.

“What good would that have done?” They ask. “Then they would have turned on you.” 

“You were with me,” Gilbert says. Leaning on his cane, he puts a hand on his hip, still directing his frown out the window. “I would’ve– there was one on my left, one on my right. I would have swung this thing–” he nods to the cane “– at the one on my left. Then you would have taken out the other urchin–” 

The Hunter laughs. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Gilbert asks. He flings his free hand up in a gesture of pure frustration. There’s an odd fire in his voice that the Hunter has never heard. All sorts of things come with renewed health. Despite the topic of conversation, the Hunter smiles. Gilbert takes note immediately and frowns at them. 

“Look,” he says, “I’ve seen you fight before! You could have strung up those– those delinquents like it was nothing! Or you could have given them a whack, at least.” 

“Forget about them,” says the Hunter softly. The way Gilbert looks at them now, they’re sure he’s as unfamiliar with their softness as they are with his anger. Then his body relaxes. He shrugs, as if to say alright. 

“If I see them again, though–” he says, after a moment, with a grin.


End file.
